


paying calls

by sannlykke



Series: anachronisms of a floating world [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Class Differences, Do Not Pinch Akashi Seijuurou, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So do you have like, a fetish for observing how us common folk live?” is the first thing that pops out of his mouth when he opens the creaking door for Akashi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	paying calls

**Author's Note:**

> comes rolling back into this au bc i suddenly had an idea  
> this is set sometime after the first fic but can be read as a separate thing bc...well.

Mayuzumi’s apartment is at the end of a terribly-maintained cobblestone lane and up several flights of rickety stairs, consisting of a barely-functioning bathroom, a kitchenette, and a bedroom that he could hardly slip into at night, as it was so full of novels and little knick-knacks he’d picked up on his trips. He has been living alone since moving out of his parents’ place nearly a decade ago, clear across the country. A smart decision, he’d thought then, and he’d been right.

No noise, no annoying neighbors, no salesmen rapping on his door trying to hawk their latest inventions or health remedies. It might be small and shitty but at least people don’t notice it. It is his and his alone.

Which makes it all the more frustrating when Akashi decides to broach a subject that Mayuzumi thought had been mutually agreed upon to  _not bring up_.

“May I visit you sometime, Chihiro?”

It isn’t a question.

Of course, as to  _why_  Akashi would bother inspecting (Mayuzumi couldn’t bring himself to think of it as a mere  _visit_ ) the rundown abode of a common citizen, well. He swallows as Akashi’s inquiring gaze refuses to leave him.

“Do I have to clean up?” He asks, and instantly regrets the words as Akashi fixes him a Look he usually reserves for making people bow out of his way. They’re sitting inside a room in a seedy little inn, surrounded by the smell of stale smoke and tea gone bad. Akashi’s taste in picking discreet locations hasn’t improved a single bit, though this time it’s partly Mayuzumi’s fault too.

Then he jerks his arm backwards, narrowing his eyes at Akashi. The redhead stares back with an air of innocence, shrugging. “Haven’t you learned any manners, Chihiro?”

“Yeah, as if  _pinching people_  is considered good manners in upper class society or whatever,” Mayuzumi grumbles. He’d get Akashi back later, in the confines of his own house.

(It’s honestly fucking insidious how Akashi so  _effortlessly_  draws him into plans he hadn’t yet made.)

 

 

“You look way stressed today,” Hayama observes, from the deck where both of them take their break. Mayuzumi pushes open a creaky window and, hesitating, flips out a cigarette from his pocket. “Whoa, hey, aren’t we like not—”

Mayuzumi glances at him, shrugging tiredly. “Shut it. I’m not stupid enough to burn this thing down.”

“Huh.”

Despite his best efforts of ignoring him, Hayama doesn’t now how to quit. “You’ve been going home a lot earlier lately. What’s the deal?”

“The deal is you don’t pry into my life,” Mayuzumi deadpans, mentally adding  _or I’ll plant something incriminating on you so I won’t ever have to talk to you again_. 

 

 

He doesn’t, and doesn’t  _want_  to know what Akashi really does in his spare time. The entirety of Japan knows the Akashi Corporation has investments in nearly all industries relevant to the country’s well-being, including the aviation company Mayuzumi works (and thinks regularly of quitting) at. Newspapers talk about them regularly, mostly about Akashi Sr.’s business ventures, but sometimes Mayuzumi would find articles about races, fancy balls, and the sort of thing he rarely hears Akashi mention.

Although it’s not like he saves those clippings or anything.

He likes the way his flat is set up—it looks  _lived in_. Not disgusting like some of the places he’d had the misfortune of visiting, and not some fancy, sanitized showroom where everything is neat and nice and perfectly skin-crawling. The kind of place Akashi probably lives in, he thinks as he moves a stack of newspapers from his table to the already-cramped space underneath his bed. 

Dust motes float in packs in the morning sun, and he sneezes just as there is a soft knock on the door.

The rusting alarm clock by his bed reads eleven.

“So do you have like, a fetish for observing how us common folk live?” is the first thing that pops out of his mouth when he opens the creaking door for Akashi Seijuurou. Akashi is wearing a trench-coat of mottled brown, and it seems to swallow him up. He stares Mayuzumi down, unimpressed.

Mayuzumi glances around, sighing, and tugs him inside before anyone could spot Akashi’s distinctive head of scarlet hair and run to the presses.

There isn’t really anywhere to sit. When Mayuzumi cooks—an infrequent occurrence—he usually just eats by the sink. Most of the time he will instead hop over to one of the many small joints in town, a mismatched array of bars (too loud) and western-inspired eateries (too expensive) and market stands (just right.) It occurs to him he doesn’t know if Akashi eats anything other than tofu.

“I'm gonna go get lunch, so stay here—”

“You did clean up,” Akashi cuts him off, in a tone that insinuates wonder. He shrugs his coat off and hangs it on the door; Mayuzumi looks down, and notices he's somehow managed to keep himself clear of that big puddle taking up most of the street. “It seems…snug.”

“Is that really the best you can come up with,” Mayuzumi drawls, and Akashi pulls him down for a kiss instead of answering.

 

 

“Don’t spill natto on my bed.”

“I’m won’t.”

Akashi’s lips are in a slight pout like that of a petulant child, which is not far from what Mayuzumi had thought of him when they’d first met. It’s actually kind of cute, but he knows if he mentions it Akashi  _would_  end up spilling fermented beans all over his bed. And on his collection of rare novels, and probably on Mayuzumi too.

He shoves another spoonful of miso soup into his mouth.

“I cannot believe you are telling me to mind my manners when you eat like this.”

“My house, my rules.” Still, he takes the napkin Akashi nearly throws at him. Even here, surrounded by none of the pomp and glitz his dining room undoubtedly has, Akashi’s habits show—he eats slowly, carefully, pausing to dab at the corner of his mouth every now and then. Mayuzumi, for his part, swallows the rest of his soup in one gulp. 

“You know,” Akashi says contemplatively, after finally setting his chopsticks down. If Mayuzumi had cared, he would've said something about Akashi's pickiness (but it _had_ been Akashi's money, so what's a half-eaten bowl of natto salad to him?) “I don’t believe we’ve ever eaten together before.”

Mayuzumi keeps his eyes on today’s headlines— _Zeppelin crash off the coast of Sendai; twelve missing_ and  _Japan reaches critical trade agreement with the British Empire_. “Yeah? I mean, we’ve always kind of met in the afternoon...”

“I know.”

Akashi is looking out the bedroom door, at the window above the sink. He’s swinging his legs—unconsciously, by the looks of it. This time, Mayuzumi finds it easier to put a hand over his. “It’s not like I can just waltz into your house even if you invite me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is that an invitation, then?” 

“Is this your way of getting back at me for pinching you?” But the expression on his face is almost gentle, and Mayuzumi wills himself to not get any more hopeful. “I can arrange something if you’d like.”

“…I mean, it’s up to you.”

He has a distinct feeling Akashi is only saying this to fluster him, but then again, he’s settled for less. Mayuzumi stands up and stretches, almost knocking their bowls off the table. “Come on then, help me wash up.”

“Hm?”

"Please don’t tell me you don’t know how to do dishes.”

 

 

Later, they’re in a tangled mess on the bed, Mayuzumi’s favorite brass figurine knocked sideways on the table; a couple old navigation books, newly dust-free, now lie on the ground.

Akashi’s arms are warm around his chest, and he feels the afternoon drowsiness threatening to take him. “I still can’t believe you managed to get a whole day free.”

“I  _am_  quite busy,” Akashi admits. He shifts closer to Mayuzumi, who half-turns to look at him. “But I always make time, don’t I?”

“Mm. Yeah, you do.” 

The scent of his cologne is subtle but heady, lulling him closer. Like a moth to flame, Mayuzumi thinks, but he’s throwing himself into the light all the same. He turns around completely so they face each other, his fingers curling up against Akashi’s. “Also…that wasn’t me trying to get back at you, by the way.”

“Oh?”

Akashi looks up at him, smiling wryly—it’s one of those rare moments he deigns to, and Mayuzumi returns the smile as he leans in for another kiss. It’s almost worth him giving up pinching Akashi back.

“Remember what you promised, last time,” Akashi murmurs, as he buries his head into Mayuzumi’s chest. His hair tickles against Mayuzumi's skin; Akashi's hair is soft, and unfairly so. 

 _Almost_.

“Alright then, Seijuurou,” Mayuzumi replies, carefully positioning his fingers into the perfect spot for attacking.

 

 

 

(A week later, Mayuzumi is still finding dried pieces of natto stuck to the most extraordinary places around his room.)

**Author's Note:**

> mayuzumi pls
> 
> (ok this wasn't initially going to be so Grossly Domestic but ... i needed a break from angsty mayuaka _(:'3/)


End file.
